


Reason #17 - It's That Groovy Kind Of Love

by BarnesnMrNoble



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton-centric, Clint being sensitive, Clint cries, Deaf Clint Barton, Deaf! Clint barton, Fluff, Little bit of angst, M/M, Maybe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 04:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20860454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarnesnMrNoble/pseuds/BarnesnMrNoble
Summary: Life has a funny way of making Clint realize those feelings he usually kept tamped down and saved for when he was alone behind closed doors. Because Clint isn’t really the feelings type of guy.OrClint has a really big heart and he loves Bucky a lot.





	Reason #17 - It's That Groovy Kind Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% a product of me listening to A Groovy Kind Of Love by Phil Collins. And I highly recommend you all listen to it. Enjoy this sweet fluff of Clint Barton and his big ass heart.

Life has a funny way of making Clint realize those feelings he usually kept tamped down and saved for when he was alone behind closed doors. Because Clint isn’t really the feelings type of guy, hasn’t been since the worst part of his life, when he was still being beaten by his dad. Then, with the circus and his missions with shield and everything that happened in New York, he really learned how to tamp down those feelings. Which, admittedly wasn’t the smartest nor the healthiest coping but it worked for him. 

And then, well, then a big beefy brown haired supersoldier waltzed into his life and kind screwed that up. Clint wasn’t mad, far from it really. It was just that Bucky had pushed, although lightly, for Clint to come to terms with those emotions and let, if no one else, someone he trusted with his heart to be a sounding board, a place to lean and carry some of the weight. He hadn’t done it outright, really just had pushed himself in his recovery and showed Clint how it had worked for him. It had been one of the many reasons they’d started getting closer, maybe even a reason they were now happily dating. 

Whatever it was, Clint wouldn’t change a thing because it left him here, with Bucky snoring into the crook of his neck at the wee early hours of the morning. 

He loves when he wakes before Bucky does, although rare. It’s not exactly a secret that Clint Barton doesn’t wake up before the sun, and he rarely will wake before noon. (And that’s only after the cup of coffee Bucky will bring him around 11, and he wakes up long enough to down, complain about how his mouth is burning and then pull Bucky into bed for another hour.) So when Clint opens his eyes and finds that he has beat the sun, it’s unexpected. Well, it would be, if he hadn’t been stuck in a nightmare, though it was one of the more tame nightmares. He was happy that it hadn’t left him screaming or flailing his arms for his sake and Bucky’s. Bucky had had several long missions and training new recruits with Steve and had barely had any time to take more than a power nap, so Clint had ordered him to sleep last night --not that he protested any, he was 30 seconds away from crashing. 

Clint ran his hands from where they were wrapped around Bucky, tracing the soft lines of the bare muscles spanning his back, relaxed in his sleep, running all the way up to where vibranium met scarred tissue and raised skin. He runs his fingers over every line of red, angry flesh, brushing his lips against the mop of brown hair splayed across his shoulder. There are few strands that have migrated to Clint’s mouth and he is totally eating his hair but honestly it’s not as bad as it could be, his hair tastes like his shampoo, crisp apple with a hint of cinnamon lingering in the back. It tastes like crisp fall air and Bucky and Steve’s famous apple pie they make that Clint has, on multiple occasions stolen from its place, cooling and eaten it all in one sitting. He’s not sorry about doing it. 

Clint loves when he remembers that he can touch, his can run his fingers over Bucky’s skin, kiss every inch and tell Bucky he is beautiful and loved, and keep going until the stubborn ass believes it. He loves that he can make himself feel small in Bucky’s arms on the couch for movie night, or just after a shit day, he loves that he tangle their fingers together and putz around the dance floor at those galas Tony always makes them go to. He loves wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist when he’s feeling soft, wearing an entire outfit of soft and fuzzy things that Clint had bought him. Yeah, Clint is a pretty touchy guy. 

He must hit a sweet spot along Bucky’s muscles because he shifts and squeezes his arms which are wrapped around Clint like his had been earlier. He nuzzles into Clint’s neck, breathing in deeply and letting out a sigh and Clint can feel the lazy press of lips to his skin and the sleepy smile and it hits him. 

It smacks him in the face like when Bucky throws a pillow at him for a stupidly corny joke, or when Bucky throws the controller at his head because Clint blue shelled him in mario kart, or when Bucky threw Clint’s aids at him because Clint was being a little shit and didn’t want to listen to Bucky yelling at him for getting himself hurt again. It hits him hard just how stupidly, irrevocably, unendingly in love he is with James Buchanan Barnes. 

And then he has these flashes of a life he’d long since given up the idea of him ever having. Flashes of little feet running around them, cooking breakfast on a late Sunday morning, living on a quiet piece of land away from the city with the house they put their blood, sweat and tears into building. And it’s a lot. 

Clint knows he is shit at relationships, he’s got the record to prove it. It’s that fact that scares him, daily. That one day, Bucky will realize Clint and his destructive behaviors are too much for him to handle and he’ll have to watch the best thing in his life walk out the door. It’s something he doesn’t think he’d recover from. He just, he loves Bucky with everything in him, with every atom of his cells. And he wants Bucky to know that, to know with every atom in  _ his _ body that Clint couldn’t live without him, wouldn’t want to. He says the words, a simple  _ I love you,  _ every morning, and every night, after every nightmare, mutters it into his ear after he collapses on top of him in every post-orgasmic haze. 

Above him, Bucky shifts, looking at him with bleary sleep riddled eyes. He looks refreshed, finally caught up on the sleep he’d been missing and the bags beneath his eyes have started to fade away. He looks good. Clint internally snorts, Bucky  _ always  _ looks good. His eyes are roaming Clint’s bare chest, admiring the feeling of skin on skin contact and the look of his strong muscles and scars that tell his story and hardships. But those eyes turn to Clint’s and he looks worried, staring at him so critically, boring into him in a way that makes Clint want to squirm and hide beneath the safety of the blankets.

But his gaze softens, and he reaches up brushing away wetness from underneath Clint’s eyes, wetness he hadn’t even realized was there. Bucky doesn’t say anything, at least not yet, he looks calculating, like he might be planning what to say or maybe he just knows Clint doesn’t have his aids in. He shifts to his elbows, carefully to not elbow Clint, and drops his lips to Clint’s skin, pressing warmth to his sternum and moving upwards. He presses a kiss to every inch of skin in a line, pausing when he reaches his jaw line and nosing at it. 

Clint, Clint doesn’t really know what to do under the affection and love that his boyfriend is putting into each press of warmth against his skin and it isn’t helping his thoughts and these swirling swooping jolts of his heart because he can’t help those thoughts that he is going to fuck this all up and lose the most amazing thing he’s been given in this life. And Bucky is nosing at his jaw trying to tell him to open his eyes in that silent way he always has, trying to break Clint free of the painful grip of destructive thoughts because of course Bucky knows that’s where his mind had gone. Bucky always knows. Bucky is his savior and it’s terrifying. 

He does open his eyes. Kind of regrets doing it, because know Bucky is resting his forehead against his and that gaze has become even more scrutinizing and Clint can feel the pull to look away to deny himself that pleasure. Bucky won’t let him though. He slips something into Clint’s ear and it takes him much longer than he’d admit to realize its one of his aids and that Bucky is waiting for his permission to turn it on. He nods slightly, feeling the sting in his chest and in his eyes as more tears spring to the surface and break the barrier to fall across his skin. 

Bucky wipes them away with calloused pads before he speaks, raspy and deep, making Clint feel other things. “Baby? What’s going on?” He doesn’t push Clint to tell him more than he is ready or willing to do, to divulge more feelings than he can because Bucky just knows him, knows him better than he knows himself and it makes everything he is feeling double. It’s too intense and Clint doesn’t know if he could voice these feelings that are just so overwhelming to him. 

But he wants to try, he wants to be better for Bucky. He wants to make sure he understands just how unendingly in love with him he is, wants him to know how despite his faults, he really is trying to be better for him. 

He opens his mouth, thinking he has a way to throw together these feelings, put them into a collection of words that would represent this whirlpool of emotions that’s making his heart skip a beat. But he can’t manage to find the words, because there isn’t a collection, a sentence of words that would ever mean enough, that would ever carry the amount of weight needed to truly convey it all. 

So, Clint stops trying. He stops trying to piece it all together and just tangles his fingers into the silky strands of brown hair and tugs Bucky down to him, crashing, in every sense of the word, their lips together. They move with the synchronicity of an ice skater gliding across fresh ice, Clint nipping at Bucky’s bottom lip in the way he knows he loves. He reaches around Bucky’s body, pulling him closer than he could think possible, craving that contact, connecting them from head to toe. He can only hope that Bucky can feel the emotion that he feels, understand that every atom in his body is labeled with Bucky’s name, that he is Bucky’s. That his mind, soul, body, heart are with Bucky and he would never want to be anywhere else. That he would tear the world in half, if it made him happy. 

Bucky is the first to pull away, his eyes dilated so that a barely there ring of ocean blue is still visible, and chest heaving. But Clint can’t force himself to pull away, he needs this more than he needs oxygen, hell, more than he needs pizza and coffee, and he keeps his lips against Bucky. To him it doesn’t matter where but he needs it. He presses red, kiss-swollen lips against his nose, the corners of his mouth, across his jaw, following the same path Bucky had on him, down to the base of his sternum, then back up to his lips before he does it all again. But Bucky makes him pause, and Clint can’t help his whimper.

He’s half afraid Bucky will be mad, that it was too much and that this is going to be the reason he walks out but when he looks to Bucky, those strong eyes have turned soft, like he knows, can audibly hear the thoughts running at a thousand miles a minute in his mind. His hand is again against Clint’s cheek and he leans into the touch, preening at the warmth that seeps into his skin and settles deep in his bones. And Clint says all that he can, the only words that will ever come close to showing that swooping his heart does when Bucky walks into a room, or when he smiles, or when he laughs at Clint’s stupid joke before throwing the pillow at him, or when he is yelling at him when he gets hurt becuase it means he cares and that he was scared, or the little things he does just to see Clint smile. “I love you.” 

He knows the words aren’t anything different than any other time he has said them, but the meaning behind them has increased a thousand fold, and does every day he gets to wake up with Bucky in his arms. And Bucky smiles that smile, one of such fondness, of such love and admiration that Clint can’t help but smile in return, bring Bucky back down to him to smile and press lazy kisses against his lips. 

His body tenses when he feels Bucky shudder against him, pulling away to find those ocean blue eyes filled with an ocean of tears waiting to fall past their barrier. Bucky gives him a wet smile. It says more than Clint could imagine, but Bucky still says the words anyways. 

“I love you, too, baby.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm human and need validation to find motivation. If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment and let me know! You can find me on tumblr under the same name!


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